


When Dragons Roamed....

by Lepidopterrain



Series: In Slumber [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Bedtime Stories, Brotherly Love, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Dreams, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Reflections on childhood, Someone pls hug my baby, Talia used to tell baby Dami stories about his batfam, That tag was in the first story too rip, Whump, allusions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:21:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lepidopterrain/pseuds/Lepidopterrain
Summary: "You have come of age with our young nationWe bleed and fight for youSometimes it seems that's all we do...And you and I will build a strong foundationAnd I'll be here for you...."~"Theodosia Reprise" Sara Bareilles vers.In which, Damian remembers.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Series: In Slumber [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980194
Comments: 2
Kudos: 72





	When Dragons Roamed....

There were several means by which Damian's childhood could be considered "odd". The obvious, of course, was that _most_ children were not raised in the League of Assassins. But then, even within the League, he knew himself to have had an unconventional experience. 

Naturally, there was the training and the fighting and the blood and the _hurt_... but... there'd been _other_ as well. 

There had been the cool of nighttime breezes, dry and chilling in only the way desert night air could be, that lazily swirled into his room through the open windows. His mother, sat at the edge of his bed, smelling of jasmine and of old books and of tea and of all things _good_ in his young tired mind. 

Damian could see her now, see the gentle curve of her lips. Her fingers trailed over his cheeks, the feeling not unlike the smooth run of the most luxurious of satins. She sighed, and it was the melody of the most gifted of larks. Talia had pressed her lips on his forehead (because she had still loved him, back then), and spoken in a voice that was like the bubbling of rivers to his ears. 

Stories. Just like any other small child, she'd told them to him. In secret, in private, away from the ears who would tell her father about how she was spoiling the child. The difference was, other children got to cling to these boyhood stories for much longer than Damian could have dreamed of. The stories she had told him then were what he understood now to be the stories of his family. But not outright. 

She'd told him about Brave Bat, and his band of misfits. There was Jokester Fox, an annoying cretin of a creature who had somehow gained the adoration of Brave Bat, but had a smart mouth and was prone to getting into trouble. There was Reckless Dragon, and creature nearly as brave as Bat, but too quick to charge into battle and too slow to use the clever brain he possessed. There was Regal Owl, smart and careful but more delicate than his compatriots. 

Outside the band of misfits, there was Godly Lion, Beautiful Viper, and Little Kite, they were good people who cared for the earth, but Brave Bat and his band of misfits did not understand, and often tried to stop them. 

Damian had not understood why that was, back then. 

His mother had always spoken of Brave Bat, Beautiful Viper, and Little Kite with the utmost tenderness. Her favorites, he would come to understand. She told him about how Grandfather favored them as well, but also held a fondness for Regal Owl. Personally, Damian had always loved Jokester Fox and Reckless Dragon. For all their faults, the best stories always included them, and as a toddler there were some nights he would long for the softness of the fox's fur under his fingertips or the leathery warmth of the dragon's wings over his body. 

After he left the League, when he was far too old for bedtime stories or to believe in Jokester Foxes and Reckles Dragons, he vowed to put them out of his mind, never to consider them again. 

And he did not. 

He did not, until...

There was a bang that changed _everything._ Down fell Jokester Fox, his mother would have said that it was fitting. To Damian, it was entirely devestating. 

Brave Bat had never been as courageous or wonderful as Mother had told him. Damian had known this for a very long time. But it was worse, so much worse, now than he could have ever expected it to be. So away, _away,_ flew Little Kite. 

It had been hard, so hard, for him to leave and to make a new place, but Damian had done as his brothers had before him. He had previously gathered his champions, it was to them he returned when his brother _changed_ and forgot them and-- _and put them aside._

There was not a night it did not sting. 

He hadn't known what to expect after that, in a world where Jokester Foxes could become Cowardly Coyotes and brothers-like-fathers could be stolen away in a flash and a bang. 

Certainly, he hadn't expected _Jason,_ with his words like fire and his growling throat of smoke to pull him closer. 

They'd met on the regular after that. The only brother who really _understood_ where Damian came from, who was _willing to learn,_ and Damian, against his better judgement, became attached. 

It was informal at first, a quick romp at the docks, or team up in the city. But then, then Jason began to open up to him, invited him to his safe spaces with a casual "have you eaten today?" or "we should patch that up, huh?" 

And he began to stay longer, with a "you know, it would be better if I stitched that up instead of you doing so single-handedly" or a "someone should watch you until all effects of that toxin wear off."

It wasn't.... It wasn't _fluorescent lights, giggle laugh, sugary sweet with a Disney miracle,_ but it wasn't _damp dark, blatant disapproval, imperfections magnified to oblivion._

Instead, Damian found himself with his Titans, longing for _yellow candlelight, steady heartbeats, Wuthering Heights read in a smokey warm voice._

These nights, curled up half asleep on a couch trying to ignore the urgency of return, became his santuary. Pressed against a broad chest that smelled of old smoke and used book stores, the steady rise and fall and occasional Arabic murmurs lulling him into a false security.

When he almost lead his Titans to a death charge, he was reminded of the fragility of it all. 

Emiko would look at him when he left. Like he was a _traitor._ And she reminded him of the _venom_ that dripped from the teeth of dragons, and he-he--

He could not fault Emiko for his own foolish disbeliefs. For his doubts. And he betrayed his beloved Dragon, tore the stories to tatters and pulled his childhood idol from the sky.

It was not long after, he curled up in the sheets of his bed. It was unlike him, but--

But he _longed._

He was _afraid._ Once again a Little Kite in a very empty sky.

But no more would he see again his Dragon nor his Fox. The Owl, Bat, Viper, and even the Lion would have naught to do with him. 

And so, alone and afraid in a world very full of humans, he cried himself to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, so far this series has been strongly influenced by Hamilton and other musicals leave me alone. I've been in a mood lately.


End file.
